


Foxed at the Edges

by Lywinis



Series: One Shots -- Capsicoul [14]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky always did have a knack for charming, Clint is a good bro tho, Getting Together, M/M, Phil Coulson is an awkward duck, Post-Winter Soldier/recovery, Steve Rogers gets jealous sometimes, you might also see some winterwidow if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:36:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1356016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/pseuds/Lywinis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve doesn't collect much. Art supplies, mostly. But he did manage to collect a fanboy, near mint, too. (Despite the rough treatment he'd gotten.) He doesn't mind that, or even really notice.</p><p>Until one day Phil's not there anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foxed at the Edges

It was a bad day when they brought Bucky home.

Phil could tell it was, he’d never seen the Captain’s shoulders set so straight, or his jaw clench that hard. James Buchanan Barnes. He looked down at the stretcher as they passed, Steve pausing to give him a short nod. He was sedated, and sleeping, but there was no doubt at all that this was the man from those long ago newsreels.

Phil made the decision then; he was going to do this right.

He was waiting for Bucky when he woke up. He was seated in the chair by the bedside, his eyes on Bucky’s face when his lids fluttered open.

“Bucky Barnes,” Phil said with a small smile. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

He was not expecting the shot to the mouth, or the split lip and black eye he got trying to subdue the Winter Soldier before he could break out through the two way mirror. More sedatives were pumped into the man’s bloodstream, and Phil got his lip stitched. Steve walked in on him refilling his ice pack.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice snapping to a tone of instant concern as he looked at Phil’s swelling eye.

“Bucky Barnes happened.” Phil gave a shrug at Steve’s wince. “It’s not a big deal. The Soviets have been pulling his strings for years now. He’s going to need to be reminded of who he is, in little steps. It’s not something I haven’t handled before.”

It was, however, a trying experience for all of them. Steve watched from the window as Phil spoke to Bucky in calm, measured Russian, only to have it flung back into his face with several invectives that left his ears ringing. Bucky was strapped to the bed, his bionic arm removed to keep him from breaking the straps, and he strained against them, even as Phil sat within reach, repeating the same phrases in Russian.

_You’re home now._

_You’re safe._

_Please understand, you’ve had a long time under the influence of the enemy._

_I’m a friend, and I’m here to help you, if you’ll let me._

Each time, he was met with a glare and the snarled Russian equivalent of what Bucky would like to see him do. Phil’s patience was worn thin, and the eighth day had him rubbing his forehead in the hallway after a vicious session. Natasha had taken one look and had walked away, shaking her head and muttering. Clint kept watch, his eyes on Bucky through the glass.

“He’s not gonna snap out of it, bossman,” Clint said, leaning back in his chair, one boot in the rungs. “He’s in far too deep. Cognitive calibration can only cure so much. Physiotherapy bullshit’s not gonna do him much good either.”

Phil nodded, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His eye had been blackened, and he could see the bruise beginning to yellow. His lip was healing, but it still ached, and the stitches wouldn’t come out for another day or so.

“I know, but I have to keep trying.” Phil’s voice was a little hoarse from the talking he’d been doing, and he took a pull on the bottle of water in his hand. Clint gave him a piercing look.

“I know he’s Cap’s buddy, but, come on, Phil, you know a lost cause when you see one.” Clint’s hand swept out to the man bound to the bed in the holding cell. “Even I wasn’t this bad when Tash kicked me in the head.”

“I’m not just doing this for the Captain,” Phil said. He glanced to the other side of the observation room. Natasha stood there, hugging her middle as if someone were twisting a knife into her. “Other people know Sergeant Barnes, and have history with him. Some of them can barely remember.”

The door shut, and Phil glanced over just in time to see the back of Steve’s head as he retreated from the room. He spat out a low curse, but Clint was up and moving.

“I’ll talk to ‘im.” Clint clapped Phil on the shoulder. “Keep workin’ on the Russkie.”

“He’s not Russian, he was born in Shelbyville!” Phil rubbed his forehead.

“Yeah, tell _him_ that.” Clint’s boots clomped from the room, and Phil grumbled to himself.

He stepped back in through the door, and Bucky lifted his head to give him a baleful stare. Phil steeled himself.

“ _Добрый день. Как ты себя чувствуешь? Что у вас болит?_ ” (Good Afternoon. How do you feel? Where does it hurt?)

“ _Иди в жопу._ ” (Go to hell.)

Phil rolled his shoulders. His comm chirped, and he clicked the ear piece on. There was an Assembly, but he was instructed to stay where he was and try to keep Barnes from getting more agitated. He sighed, listening to the chatter. He tensed when someone mentioned Johann Schmidt.

 _“He’s mine.”_ Steve’s voice was thin over the comms. Phil opened his mouth to argue, but Quartermain, the handler for this particular mission, stepped in, reading Steve the riot act. Phil clicked the comm off to be able to concentrate.

“ _Попробуем еще раз, сержант? Как Вас зовут?_ ” (Shall we try again, Sergeant? What’s your name?)

“ _Ёб твою мать._ ” (Fuck your mother.)

Phil sighed out a breath through his nose, feeling his head start to throb. “ _Это оскорбительно._ ” (That’s hurtful.)

Bucky replied with something that would have to be redacted from the official reports, and Phil sighed again, pulling a chair over and straddling it.

“ _Попробуем еще раз, сержант? Как Вас зовут?_ ” (Shall we try again, Sergeant? What’s your name?)

* * *

Red Skull had gotten away. Steve slammed a fist into the bank of empty lockers in the fourth floor gym. The gym was Avengers only, and most of them kept their gear within reach, rather than in the lockers. The metal crumpled around his fist, and he looked mournful at the damage he had just caused. He’d pay for it out of his pension from the army, of course, not that he was really doing anything with it.

He was existing.

He blew out a frustrated sigh, ruffling his blonde hair as he sat on the locker room bench.

A hand on his shoulder made him jump. He looked up and relaxed when he saw Natasha. He felt better that it was her sneaking up on him instead of someone like Phil. While he liked Phil, his senses were fine-tuned, and even the agent’s quiet steps could be heard. If he was distracted enough to let Phil sneak up on him, that meant that this was really bothering him.

“Natasha,” he said. She slid onto the seat next to him and began pulling off her gear. “Something on your mind?”

“Looks like there’s something on yours,” she said, unsnapping the Widow’s Bites from her wrists. She nodded to the twisted wreck that was once the lockers. Steve winced. “Bucky?”

He nodded. “He doesn’t remember anything.”

“He will. Give Coulson time.”

“What if he can’t…do anything?” he asked. He looked over and caught the flicker on Natasha’s face, something that shifted behind her eyes as she regarded him.

“You don’t trust Coulson?” she asked.

“I trust Phil. I just don’t think there’s anything that can undo…that.” Steve scrubbed his hands across his face. “I don’t trust SHIELD. I respect the men and women of the organization for what they do, but I don’t trust Fury, or Hill.”

“And you think I do,” Natasha said. Steve glanced at her. She wasn’t smiling, but she had a crook to her lips that made it seem as though she were amused by his reasoning. “Steve, if I trusted this organization as far as I could throw it? I would be dead. I have people, like Clint and Coulson, that I trust. I don’t trust SHIELD. I work for them. I trust that Coulson won’t give me a task that he knows would betray the trust I have in him.”

“You’ve worked with him a long time,” Steve said, leaning back against the wall. Natasha unzipped her catsuit, and Steve averted his eyes. That seemed to amuse her as she dressed in her workout sweats. “He seems like a good man.”

“He is,” she said, wrapping tape around her hands. “He’s the only man in this organization that I would trust with my life. I have, in fact, and have not been disappointed.”

“He’s…well, he’s trying, at least,” Steve said. Despite all that had gone on, Steve was glad the agent was still alive. After that first outburst on the Quin, he’d done nothing but become quietly efficient, especially after his recovery. Steve had been there to sign his cards, but Phil hadn’t placed himself into the Avengers’ business unless absolutely necessary. He appreciated that.

There was the scuttlebutt that got around, of course, that said that Phil was…infatuated with him. If he was, Steve couldn’t tell. It caused a bit of a swoop in his stomach when he’d heard the rumor for the first time, turning the corner on a group of junior agents who had given him terrified looks and then scuttled away. After being as furtive as possible about it, he hadn’t noticed anything different.

So, he chalked it up to rumors. Natasha, however, might know more, he reasoned.

“He’s a good agent, I’m sure.” Steve began to wrap his own hands, pulling off his armored uniform and leaving himself in his undershirt and pulling on a pair of army BDU pants. “His methods are gentler than I expected.”

“That? Coulson can be rough. When he deems it necessary.” Natasha glanced at him, tossing him the roll of tape. He caught it without looking. “He doesn’t deem it necessary here. He’s trying to bring back your friend, not extract information. He cares about you.”

Steve gave a small shiver at the implication of Phil being rough. Natasha gave a soft snort.

“Besides, how often does he have a chance to talk to a living member of the Howling Commandos?” Steve’s attention snapped to her. She shrugged. “Dum Dum Dugan retired years ago, before Coulson became a full agent. He has that signature up on his wall, right next to some of the posters he has of you.”

Steve hadn’t heard about Dum Dum being a part of SHIELD. He resolved to ask Fury about his whereabouts later. The news that Phil had been after his signature too was a surprise to Steve. He’d thought it had been hero worship, something specific to himself.

Maybe he was wrong.

He didn’t quite like how that made him feel. Natasha spoke again, and his attention returned to her, his feelings pushed aside.

“Coulson does his best for everyone. That was how he recruited me.” Natasha tightened the wraps around her wrists, and then flexed her fingers. “Come on, let’s get rid of some of that excess energy. Best two out of three?”

Steve gave her a smile. “You aiming to lose today?”

She sauntered out of the locker room. “With you this distracted? If I did, I’d be ashamed of myself.”

* * *

“ _Попробуем еще раз, сержант? Как Вас зовут?_ ” (Shall we try again, Sergeant? What’s your name?)

“ _Разве ты не слышал меня в первый раз? Я сказал тебе идти ебать твою мать, военные собаки._ ” (Didn't you hear me the first time? I told you to go fuck your mother, military dog.)

“ _Сержант_ _Barnes, SHIELD находится здесь, чтобы помочь вам. Мне нужно, чтобы вы думали назад и вспомнить войну. Запомнить Второй мировой войны. Вы не советского солдата. Вы гражданин США, родившийся в 1919 году. Вы жили в Нью-Йорке._ ” (Sergeant Barnes, SHIELD is here to help you. I need you to think back and remember the war. Remember World War II. You are not a Soviet soldier. You are an American citizen, born in 1919. You lived in New York City.)

“ _О чем это собачьего дерьма выходит из ваших уст, что вы думаете, обращается ко мне? Я служу. Ты не мой начальник. Либо убейте меня или доставить меня к ним. Ваш американский промывания мозгов не будет иметь никакого влияния на железную волю советского солдата._ ” (What is it about the dogshit coming out of your mouth that you think appeals to me? I serve. You are not my superior. Either kill me or deliver me to them. Your American brainwashing will have no effect on the iron will of a Soviet soldier.)

Phil sighed and rubbed at his eyes, feeling old and tired as he stepped from the interrogation room. Natasha held out a cup of coffee, and he slugged back the bitter brew as he regarded the Winter Soldier through the reflective mirror.

“Nothing?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“I’m trying, Natasha.” Phil set the mug down, tapping his finger against the hot ceramic. “He’s been under Soviet influence for almost as long as you were.”

She didn’t flinch, but he could see the frost that descended behind her green eyes. “He holds the key to everything, you know.”

“I know. I’ll do what I can.”

She stood, then squeezed his shoulder. It was rare for Natasha to touch anyone, but Phil knew and took it as a sign of her trust in him. She stepped away to the door of the room, giving the Winter Soldier a long look through the glass.

“I know you will, Phil.” Then, she was gone, silent as she padded away.

He sighed and stepped back into the interrogation room.

“ _Попробуем еще раз, сержант? Как Вас зовут?_ ” (Shall we try again, Sergeant? What’s your name?)

* * *

Steve threw a punch, and the Tesseract skittered out of Red Skull’s hands once again. There was no telling how he’d gotten it from the treasury in Asgard, but Thor swore that he’d taken it there to be laid to rest in its cask. Schmidt had ties elsewhere, however, because dark energy flared around his fingertips as he drew his sidearm. He had gotten help from an unknown ally.

“Give it up, Skull!” Steve shouted, trying to buy Clint time. The archer was sneaking around behind, flitting through the rafters like a shadow, his bow out and strung. “You’re outnumbered.”

“Hardly,” Red Skull said. “One super soldier is not enough to stop the Red Skull from his dark purpose. Neither is your band of trained monkeys, Herr Rogers.”

Skull turned, his sidearm’s muzzle flashing as he fired shots at Clint, who swore and dove for cover. Steve went for a tackle, his shoulder meeting the small of the German’s back with a grunt as they toppled.

The Tesseract slid away from them both as Steve struggled to his knees, planting himself on Red Skull’s chest. He reared back to deck his foe, but collapsed under emptiness as he vanished, reappearing with a small ‘tsk’ noise. Steve was impressed that he could make the noise without any lips, but that idle thought was struck down as Skull bent to retrieve the cube. He launched himself at it instead, a flurry of arrows from Clint keeping the madman busy as Steve seized the cube.

Steve knew what he was after. The Tesseract was more than just an energy source. According to Thor, and Odin himself, who had come to thank the Avengers for the return of the cube, the thing could store enough power to grant wishes. Those wishes were enough to change the world, although it would require massive amounts of sacrifice.

Human sacrifice. The Winter Soldier’s targets made much more sense now, and Steve stretched, muscles burning as he reached for the cube. He just had to touch—

* * *

Hundreds of miles away, in a SHIELD interrogation room, Bucky Barnes screamed loud enough to rattle the window, and then lapsed into unconsciousness.

* * *

“Good afternoon, Sergeant Barnes,” Phil said, setting a pitcher of water on the table. Bucky looked worse for wear, with heavy circles under his eyes and red rimmed lids. His gaze was bloodshot, and he hadn’t shaved in several days.

“Agent Coulson,” Bucky said, looking down at his hands. “Any chance I’m going to get out of here soon?”

“That all depends on you,” Phil replied. He turned the chair and seated himself, giving Bucky a once-over. “Are you ready to tell me about Red Room?”

“No,” he said. “No one’s going to know. But I’m going after them.”

“Your friend, Captain Rogers,” he said, and he struggled to control his tone as those dark eyes snapped to him. “He wanted to see you.”

“No.” Bucky shook his head, hair falling into his face. “Anyone but him.”

“Another old friend of yours, then.” Phil said. He stood, opening the door and sticking his head out to speak in a quiet voice. Natasha stepped in, and Phil turned to watch his eyes widen.

“Natalia,” he said. She sat, at the side of the bed, and Phil saw himself out, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

“He doesn’t want to speak to me.” Steve’s voice was a study in frustration. Phil tilted his head, watching Steve from the corner of his eye as he watched Natasha and James speak.

“He’s afraid.” Phil turned to Steve and noted the irritation melt into confusion. “I would be, too, if all of my past sins were laid bare in front of someone who remembered me like you do.”

“We already did that,” Steve snapped. “When you died.”

Phil suppressed the flinch. It came across as a tightening of his shoulders, and Steve softened.

“Phil, I’m sorry.”

“Think nothing of it, Captain Rogers. I understood that my return would be…upsetting at best for a lot of people.” Phil gave him a smile, but his heart wasn’t really in it. He’d obviously disappointed the Captain himself. He could understand how Bucky felt a little better, he decided.

“I shouldn’t have. That was out of line.”

“It’s quite all right, Captain. If you’ll excuse me, I should get back to documenting the incident. Have a good afternoon, sir. If Natasha can convince him, perhaps he’ll speak with you this afternoon.” Phil turned on his heel and made a quick exit.

* * *

James Barnes rejoined American life as a contractor for SHIELD. Eventually, he and Steve Rogers were reintroduced. James hesitated, but Steve enfolded him in a bonecrushing hug, before pulling back, clapping him on the back and grinning like a schoolboy.

(By all reports, when Coulson saw the scene, it was all he could do to keep from swooning at the smile. These reports were ruthlessly assigned the coldest spots on the SHIELD base in Antarctica.)

Steve was happier, much more settled to have his friend back, and it showed. He strolled around SHIELD, chatting with everyone. He looked far less lost than before, and it was good, according to a lot of people, to see him brighten up.

Something, however, was missing now. There was Bucky back, and while Steve was glad of that, there was another hole. One that had recently been filled with an agent who might have had feelings for him. If he did, Steve couldn’t figure it out, and it was driving Steve just a bit crazy.

Now when he spoke to Phil, it was almost as if the agent couldn’t get away fast enough. He’d make polite excuses and go back to work, where once Steve was able to at least stop and chat with him. Steve didn’t realize quite how much he missed the attention until Tony had pointed it out.

“Your barnacle has found somewhere else to cling,” the billionaire said, sipping his cup of Starbucks. Steve glanced around.

“What?” he asked.

“Your fanboy, Coulson. He must’ve gotten a nerd boner for someone else in spandex,” Tony said. “I don’t see him anywhere.”

“He’s around,” Steve said. He was curious now, too. “He doesn’t hang around much. He’s pretty come and go.”

“I’ll bet,” Tony said, smirking.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Steve said, suppressing a growl. Tony shrugged, and Steve’s attention was caught when he heard the sound of laughter from down the hall. He turned, watching Bucky and Phil round the corner, chatting amiably. Bucky tilted his head back and laughed, and Phil smiled, big and bright, something that had before only been reserved for Steve, himself.

It was then that Steve realized he had a big, green problem, and Bruce had been in Paraguay for six months.

* * *

“How’re you liking it?” Steve asked, ducking a blow from Bucky’s bionic arm. They were sparring, the ring deserted as they went the rounds with each other, learning their ropes all over again. They still fit together like brothers should, Steve found, with no jagged edges save for one.

“It’s a job.” Bucky rolled out of the way of a punch Steve threw, launching himself across the ring. “Everyone seems pretty excited to meet me, like Phil was.”

“Phil’s a good guy,” Steve said, sweeping Bucky’s feet out from underneath him. Bucky rolled away, lashing a kick out at him as he did. “Helped me get settled.”

“Good, someone needed to look out for you while I was gone.” Bucky caught the punch that Steve threw, wincing as he skidded backward. “Hey, watch it.”

Steve paused, realizing he’d hit Bucky much harder than he’d intended. He stopped, breathing hard, and leaned against the corner of the ring where he’d stored his gear. Bucky leaned against the ropes.

“So, does he know you’re mooning after him like you did after Grace Ipswitch in the eighth grade?” Bucky asked. Steve smiled at the memory of the curly haired little girl, before the full meaning hit home.

“What? No, Buck, it’s not like that.” Steve looked up to find Bucky looking at him with a knowing expression. “Stop that.”

“Steve, I’ve known you since we were kids. I know you weren’t really interested in the dames I brought along on those dates. I’m not saying you weren’t interested in girls back then, but they didn’t have what you were looking for. That Peggy dame, she had the chutzpah you liked. So does this guy. I keep hearing rumors about a bag of flour.”

“He went up against Loki by himself.” Steve listened to his own voice, and realized there was pride and admiration there. Maybe…maybe he did carry a torch for the agent. He groaned and slumped against the corner of the ring.

“See, there you go. He’s brave, and he’s the most honest guy I’ve talked to here.” Bucky rubbed his jaw. “He also won’t shut up about you, either. Just like you won’t about him.”

“I don’t talk about him that much,” Steve said. Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”

“He’s _all_ you’ve talked about the past week,” Bucky said. Steve groaned again. “Listen, just talk to the guy. He’s obviously sweet on you.”

Steve reached out and pulled Bucky into a headlock. Bucky protested, loudly, and Steve bounced up after wrestling him to the mat.

“Thanks, Bucky,” he said. Bucky grumbled.

“You ain’t gotta take it out on me for talkin’ to him, though.” Bucky headed off to the showers. “You better go talk to him, or you’ll be pummeling probies to get his attention.”

Steve rolled his eyes and trailed behind to shower and change.

* * *

“Phil?” Steve called, knocking on the doorframe. Phil looked up from his paperwork, blinking in surprise.

“Captain,” he said, standing. “Have a seat. What can I do for you?”

“You can start by calling me Steve, for one,” Steve said, moving into the room, but not to sit. Instead, he moved closer to Phil, his hands removed from their pockets as he got closer. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“No,” Phil said, backing up a step. “I’ve been busy, with paperwork.”

“You were never so busy with paperwork that you couldn’t come by and see us, though,” Steve said. “Come by and see me. Now, you’re hanging around with my best pal instead of me, and I have to wonder what I did that turned you off.”

He let the double entendre hang in the air, watching as the unflappable Phil Coulson became more and more flustered. He backed him into the wall, boxing him in with flat palms.

“Almost seems like I should be jealous, all this time you’re spending with Bucky.” He smiled, and watched Phil straighten again.

“I apologize, Captain Rogers. I didn’t think that spending time with Sergeant Barnes was anything outside my duty. Getting him acclimated was my only intention. You’ve nothing to worry about, as far as SHIELD’s involvement—“

Steve silenced him with a kiss, cupping Phil’s face and opening his mouth, turning it into something hot and filthy in a matter of moments as Phil’s brain caught up with the rest of him. He found hands wrapped in his shirt, and he was tugged closer, the agent arching full-bodied against him like a cat.

Steve pulled back, panting a little, and grinned down at Phil. He liked that look on the agent, his lips bruised, his eyes a little glazed, and his mind wandered to the idea of Phil marked for all the world to see, bruises from his lips and teeth and hands as the agent squirmed underneath him—

He snapped back to reality, realizing that Phil was still pressed against him and he was very aware that the agent was almost rubbing against him. He glanced down, and Phil hauled him in for another kiss, slow and sweet and undemanding.

“I’ve…wanted to do that for a while,” Phil said, and Steve felt himself rush with pleasure. He’d done that. Not Bucky, not Tony, not some other costumed hero. He had; Steve Rogers in his civvies had made the unflappable Agent Phil Coulson weak-kneed.

“Good, so long as you’re not doing it with anyone else,” Steve said, tilting his head and dipping to taste Phil again. He tasted like coffee, which was nice. He also smelled like faint cologne, which was also nice. Steve decided he liked it.

“God, no.” Phil sounded horrified. “I don’t do one night stands.”

“Good,” Steve replied. “Neither do I. Dinner later?”

“I’d love to,” Phil said. Steve hummed in satisfaction and kissed him again.

“Pick you up at eight.” Steve smiled. “It’s a date.”

Steve pulled back, rubbing his thumb across Phil’s kiss-bruised lips.

“That’s a good look for you,” he murmured. “I like it.”

Phil shuddered, and Steve grinned at him before sauntering off to make plans. Phil was his agent, after all. Only fair that he knew it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd forgotten I'd written this for Capsicoulets. I never did post it here. I should upload more of my stuff when I have the chance. Mostly it's genderbent Phil stuff from my indie RP account, but I think I should. At least this way I feel more productive. I'm also cleaning up and publishing half-finished things, too.
> 
> That, and since Winter Soldier is coming out next week, it's the perfect time to republish.
> 
> Douleur is not on the back burner, but it's very emotionally draining and honestly I haven't got the fortitude for it at the moment. I'm about halfway through chapter four and still debating on where I want to put things.
> 
> **Apologies for the shitty stilted Russian. I speak very little, and so to Google Translate.


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